


Following you.

by RelativelyCool



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Be Gentle With Me, Dirk has mild depression and anxiety, First fanfic I've posted, Ghost!Hal, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Suicidal Thoughts, Not super severe but still, Oh god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:48:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7677874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RelativelyCool/pseuds/RelativelyCool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who knew that people speaking with the dead was possible? Or, even managing to build a strong bond with each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Following you.

**Author's Note:**

> A'ight so, hey. This is pretty much the first fanfic I've done and oh boy am I excited/terrified of this. People said they liked my writing so, I had to give it a shot. Please do leave a kudos or a comment if you like it! If not, then I'll just improve.

Your name is Dirk Strider and you have no idea why you're here. You have no idea why you're in a funeral, with so many people you have never encountered in your 17 years life, but here you are, standing in front of a casket with a suit on, grieving over this deceased relative. Well, you do know why you're here; your big bro, Dave, just passed away. He was shot dead just at the front of the apartment's building, when he was leaving for work on the studio. He was a fairly famous movie director, so these news hit really hard on the media. But the one who had the biggest impact on his death was unfortunately you. Just as you heard him go through the door and leave, you hear a gunshot, followed by screaming and the feeling of absolute dread filled the air around you. It surely wasn't him, Bro is a tough guy, dear god don't let it be him. And, as it turns out, the odds were against you. Everything went by like a blur, your memory heavily hazy, but there is one thing you do remember from all of that chaos; Dave, lying on a pool of blood, lifeless and with nothing controlling over his body. The blood was possibly the most vivid memory of all: the intensity of that particular hue, the bloody face of your brother as the last breath of life escaped from his lips, it was all burned into your brain with no signs of ever leaving from your thoughts.

As hard as you wanted to block these thoughts, they always managed to resurface and haunt you wherever you go, taunting you about your actions. 

_There was nothing you could do to prevent this. There was nothing you could do to save him. You were the one to blame. It's your fault he's dead, all your fault._

For the longest time, you thought it was your fault, thanks to these newfound voices.

\---

You return to your apartment after everything was over, saying goodbye to all of the people who attended the funeral and receiving condolences from strangers who pretended that they knew your brother, all with your most stoic expression you could manage at the time. Evidently, your facade worked, but you were completely dead to the world in the inside, wanting to escape from that place, crawl inside a hole and never see the light of day ever again. Maybe that would be a good idea if you ever want to see your brother again, which you think it'll be soon. You considered it, heavily. But soon after, you buried that thought deep within your mind in hopes of never encountering such thing ever again, but it continued to linger. You stand on front of the building where your apartment is, glancing at the entrance with a grimace. You felt like you were going to be sick. The dry stains of blood were still present on the pavement, a reminder about what has happened that day and the last marks of life that Dave had left behind, imprinted on the floor as if it were mocking you. You couldn't do anything. 

A sharp pain settled in your gut, clutching your stomach as if you were going to puke. You can't handle any of this. You bolted through the entrance and went into the elevator, pressing the corresponding floor you reside in with a shaky hand, and collapsed to the floor once the elevator door was closed. Your eyes start to water, your breath hitching and you feel like your heart is going to jump out of your mouth at any given second. You still can't believe that any of this is happening, this has to be some kind of sick joke Life is playing on you.

_Haha, fun's over dude, now give me my brother back._

Your sight is becoming foggy, and you can barely think straight. This is _not_ the right time, **this is not the right time**. You're so pathetic. You hear a ding and the door sliding open, and with all of the remaining strength you have left in your being, you pick yourself up and walk out of the elevator. You basically run through the hallways, looking for the door of your apartment with urgency. Once you found it, you enter and slam the door behind you, breathing heavily now. You slowly slide down, your back against the door, and after repressing your emotions for so long, you break down. You began to sob, tears running down your face after feeling your eyes sting ever since you attended the funeral and hugging your knees close to your chest in a weak attempt to keep yourself together. You hover your hand over your eyes and take your shades off, chucking them to the side after staring at it for what felt like ages. Your brother gave you those shades in your 10th birthday, and that day was a very special day for you in your heart, probably one of your best days of your life. You hiccup and furiously wipe away your tears, trying to control yourself from crying your eyes out until they're completely dry and be soaked to the bone in your own tears. No dice. 

\---

You have no idea how long you've been like this, but it was long enough for you to cry yourself to sleep in front of the door. You haven't felt like this for years, it was overwhelming. You snored your fears away, curled up in a ball on the cold hard floor for god knows how long… Until you heard a crash from one of the rooms. You bolted upright and for a second, you forget where you were, almost scared that you were sleeping at the graveyard where the funeral took place. Thankfully, you weren't there, but your fear still lingered. You just heard something crash inside the apartment, and you're alone. Being alone was probably the scariest part in all of this, and boy howdy did it make you feel uneasy.

You began to stand up on your feet, wobbling a little and feeling numb all over your body. You looked at the clock on the wall as it displayed the time: 11:53 PM. Sleeping on the floor wasn't the best of ideas. You rub your eyes a little, removing some of the dry tears that were imprinted on your face and soon realize that you don't have your shades on. With that, you quickly turn your head to where you threw your shades but, curiously, your shades weren't anywhere in sight. You could've swore your shades were here! At this point, you began to panic a little, but quickly try to shrug off the fact that your shades literally disappeared and focus on the noise that just emitted from one of the rooms in your apartment. 

You began to cautiously tip-toe around the flat, making as little noise as possible in case if something or someone jumps out of the darkness and attack you. _It could've been a bird that crashed through the window_ , you began to think to yourself, rationalizing the situation, _or a burglar or some shit_. You then shake your head at that; how could've it been a burglar if you slept in front of the door? Surely, you would've woken up if anyone touched the door. Either this guy was extremely dedicated in his job that he climbed a 14-floored building to take your stuff or you're just being really paranoid and are hallucinating this shit. Either way, you're still scared.

On your way to where you think you heard the noise, something catches your eye. A red splotch of what seemed to be goo was splattered on the floor, smudged by someone's hand. You wouldn't have noticed it in the first place because of the darkness, but that stuff had a particulate attribute to it: it was irradiating a red soft glow, kind of like a lava lamp. 

You were mesmerized by it, almost completely forgetting about the whole situation entirely. You approach the goo slowly, crouching down to get a good look at it and examining it with huge interest, confusion and uncertainty. You stretch a trembling hand out to touch it, the rational side of your brain screaming volumes that you shouldn't be doing this and concentrate on the situation at hand, but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat. You reach to feel the substance and, to your surprise, it was warm for you, indicating that this shit was left behind fairly recently, and it was kinda sticky too. You were really considering taking some of the glowy substance to your mouth, but the cynical side of your brain took over and quickly shot down the idea, making you wipe the goo away on the carpet and stand up, continuing with your ministrations. 

You jump and almost squeal as another loud sound emits from what appears to be the kitchen, it sounded like a plate being smashed to the ground. Whoever is doing this clearly doesn't have any previous training on being quiet, or careful in that matter. Your heart was beating a hundred miles an hour at this point, but you didn't want to be some kind of pathetic kid who struggles with their inner demons in a daily basis and has anxiety. You want to prove that you don't need your brother to save your ass, you want to prove him that you can be independent. You don't want to let your own thoughts to engulf you in a mist of your own misery and grief, you want to overcome yourself, to be someone Dave would be rightfully proud of. 

You crept up towards the kitchen door slowly, taking one of the many swords that hanged on the wall with you in case if whoever's in there decided to beat the shit out of you, which they probably will. You have some knowledge on swords too, so it might be a good choice for a weapon. The rattling of plates and pans became more prominent as you stood in front of the door, pressing your ear against it, waiting for the perfect moment to enter. You’re kind of shaking now, but you shrug it off, not letting anything prevent you from figuring out the fuck’s going on.

You grab the doorknob, slowly twisting it and, with a shaky sigh, you open the door, making as little sound as possible. You poke your head out to examine the surroundings and see where this douchebag is, setting a foot inside… Before you froze. The kitchen was covered in the same red glowy substance you saw back in the hallway; the sink, the cupboards, the fridge, the counter, everything was splattered with it. But that wasn't all, you also saw the one behind this mess. It was a tall, blonde guy about your age, also maybe as tall as you, looking inside the cupboards with sheer curiosity and basically taking any edible thing out and throwing it to the floor, along with a couple of plates as the floor was littered with broken shards of porcelain and glass. You were preparing yourself to launch at this guy and have the best/worst beatdown you would ever suffer from, if you didn't notice something from him that seemed… Off.

He had no legs.

You loosen the grip on your sword and let it drop to the ground, making a loud clatter with the broken plates. The person pauses his actions and slowly turns his head around, making eye contact with you for a second before glancing back at the cupboards he was raiding and back at you again, hesitantly dropping his arms to his sides. 

“Shit.” He whispers, his eyes moving frantically from left to right before grabbing the food and broken plates from the ground and stuffing them inside the cupboard. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.” He repeated, sounding worried. “This wasn't the way I planned it to go. You just met me while I was binge-eating, how embarrassing is that? Haha… Oh, sweet Jesus.” He continued to put stuff in the cupboards, struggling on closing it because of the objects falling out of it, so he just put his back against it in hopes that it'll prevent it from getting any worse. He then faced you once again, a nervous smile on his face like he was pretending that nothing is wrong, and then waved his hand at you. “So um… Hey there, friend. Nice… Nice weather outside, don't you think? I heard it's 60 degrees outside. Perfect for uh… Jogging? Jogging. Yeah.”

You stood there dumbfounded, not believing anything that your eyes were seeing. Ok, let's see what's wrong with this picture: this guy who apparently had no fucking legs whatsoever and was kind of floating there, was raiding his kitchen, causing a huge mess with throwing shit all over the place, not to mention he littered the damn room with what seemed to be lava lamp goo too. Bet you haven't seen this shit before. The guy noticed your confused and started expression written all over your face and cleared his throat, hearing something shatter inside the cupboard and cringing. “Oh, right. You… Probably have no clue what the fresh fuck is going on, yeah? I mean, that face you're making speaks volumes that this situation hasn't occurred to you before in your many years of life, which I will wholeheartedly respect. You're a noob, so what?” He moved forwards, managing to keep the cupboard closed in the meantime, and puts his hands forwards as an anticipation that you will attack him. “Ok, look. You might have some vague idea of what I am, or not, but I will reveal the secret to you anyway because this whole situation will make more sense if I explain it to you on the fly.” He took a deep breath, a little too exaggerated, and drops his hands to his sides. “I, am a ghost. And my name is Hal. Or, well, I think it is…” His eyes faltered to the ground before looking up back at you and stretching out his hand, which in closer inspection seemed to be translucent. “Nice to meet you, dude.”

At this point, you firmly believed that you have gone batshit insane and you're tripping the fuck out, hallucinating this “ghost” right in the spot. You glance at the hand and back at Hal’s face, your brow furrowed as you try to understand the situation. “Wh… What?” You managed to mutter, taking a step backwards and having your back against the door. The ghost lowers his hand and huffs. “You could've been polite and shook my hand, y'know. But nope, looks like you're not that kinda guy. A fist bump should've been better, now that I think about it.”

He sighs and shrugs his shoulders, his expression soon becoming more serious. “Welp, seeing as you're in complete shock, right now is not the right time to explain this. So…” Hal looks around the kitchen for something, before his eyes fell to the ground and noticed the sword you dropped. He hums in thought as he picks it up and looks at it in a strange way, almost as if he was contemplating it. He then made a “hmph” sound and looked back up to face you, giving you a look that made you shiver. “Sorry about this. Hope this doesn't give you the wrong idea.” “W-wait, what are yo--” Before you could finish, Hal swung the sword and hits you hard on the head with the handle, knocking you out cold and slumping to the ground.


End file.
